


The Kids Aren't Alright

by noxic



Series: Sketchy Girls and Lipstick Boys [2]
Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Angst, Drugs/Crime/Prostitution does NOT happen on the page, Exploring gender expression through the eyes of a superpowered teen delinquent, Gen, Mentions of Violence, Mojo Jojo's Bad Parenting, Nonbinary Character, Queer Themes, The Rowdyruff Boys Swear a Lot, mentions of Police Violence, mentions of drug use, mentions of prostitutions, please heed content warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxic/pseuds/noxic
Summary: Sequel to ReddishBrick needs information. He gets more than he bargained for.orThe one where Brick is still trying, Butch is tired, and Boomer has been hiding things.





	The Kids Aren't Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings are there for a reason, but most of them are only mentioned as environmental factors. Citysville is not a kind place to live.

During the day amidst the hustle and bustle of its denizens, tourists, visiting businesspeople, and whoever else stumbled into its open arms, Citysville could almost pass for a decent scene--an okay place to bring a family up. Busy and crowded, but not too shabby all around.

Nighttime was a different story. As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving pale light mixed with darkness in its wake, the city’s whole demeanor shifted. Its angles got sharper and its streets turned blacker. Its background noise faded into nothing before being replaced by the call of the urban wild. Gunshots, catcalls, music, fights and screaming both indoors and out, and the ever-present wail of police sirens in the distance. It was the same city taken at a different angle—an optical illusion that made you think you were seeing something different when, in reality, you were just being let in on the truth behind the mask.

That’s what it was, Brick thought. Truth. In the night, people showed you who they really were. There were no pretenses and nothing to hide. People went fucking crazy and they expected you to do the same. If you were strong, you had all the freedom in the world. If you were weak…well, you knew better than to be out in the streets after dark. If you were weak, you probably had a day job like the uppity fucks in the sparkly downtown high-rises and the ladder-climbers trying to make an honest living in the dilapidated apartment complexes of the crumbling East Side. If you had anything to lose, you stayed indoors until the monsters slunk back into the shadows of the early morning.

Brick was _not_ weak, and he had so very little to lose.

Nighttime in Citysville was the domain of the powerful, and Brick outclassed every gunslinger and gangbanger in this town _easily_ when it came to power. He still remembered his first tussle downtown—the looks on the older guys’ faces when they realized that the three little twerps in bright-colored matching sweaters had more brute strength in their undersized bodies than in their entire gangs’ forces combined and that they could _fly_ …god, he still cracked up thinking about it.

The Rowdyruff boys had quickly become local legend, but sometimes their fame got lost in translation when Mojo Jojo ordered them to “lay low” and “try to stay inconspicuous.” Not for the first time, Brick wondered if waiting around for Mojo to make a move was ever going to pay off. Was he really percolating on some grand scheme that would make their years of dejected subordination worth it all? Were they ever going to reap the reward for their loyalty?

Because if not, Brick thought sourly, they could certainly join the Citysville night scene and run the fucking place themselves. They had the manpower and the intimidation factor…they could do it if they really wanted to. He pictured his brothers sleeping on king-sized beds in their own rooms and waking up to a full spread of whatever food they wanted. Having people call him “Boss” and go all wobbly in the knees when he made a scary face. But it all came back around to fucking Mojo Jojo.

From the top of one of the boarding houses just south of downtown central, Brick looked down on the heads of the people wandering in groups below, illuminated by the dim yellow street lights. There was a group of four women in flashy, revealing clothing that he’d seen before. They worked several blocks over and had to pass by a group of burnouts on their way there. They got whistled at, named their prices, and continued on their way. It was like clockwork.  On the other side of the street in the darkness of an alley was a tall guy in a deep gray hoodie with ratty sneakers and his hood pulled up. Brick could see the gun stuffed in the back of his pants from here with his x-ray vision. Probably an addict needing a fix and getting desperate.

There were a few more parties out walking on this block, mostly men but a few women hanging occasionally from their elbows. Brick scoffed. Fucking leeches, that’s what they were. All of them, but especially the women. They were stick skinny, half the time from cigs and coke, and left on their own they’d be fucking dead out here at this hour. They had nothing to offer, no way to protect themselves. And they were paying for it—they were paying the men who escorted them in trust they hadn’t earned. Brick did the math. At least one or two of them wouldn’t be able to front the cost when the time came. They’d understand the real price of vulnerability in a few hours. Fucking idiots.

Brick stood up from where he’d crouched down, then took off into the air a few dozen feet above the higher buildings in this neighborhood. He was mostly just observing this evening. Mostly. His eyes combed over many a scene like the one he’d just witnessed, always with just a slight variation. Sometimes the working girls would hang out in larger or smaller groups, the men wore different colors but talked the same ways, and the smell of weed and crack and booze wafted up to his vantage point from every angle. A little over a mile away, he could see red and blue flashers click on. He ignored the gunshots that followed.

Instead, he wandered somewhat lazily in the direction of a certain street that housed a certain bar and a certain class of people that he’d never bothered with before. Now it felt unavoidable.

He landed on top of the building the bar operated out of, sitting on the edge of the roof with one leg dangling over the edge. Being in this part of town was like being in an alternate reality. Everything was the same, but everything was different at the same time. The people were all there—burnouts and street rats and the dregs of society, but they were different. There were tall, skinny men in wigs and lipstick, younger boys in shorts that hugged them just a little too closely to be comfortable. Anybody young and pretty seemed to be on display. Brick didn’t know how to feel about it. It made his gut burn uncomfortably in a way he couldn’t explain.

All sorts of people came out of the bar as Brick watched. There were average-looking older guys and young men, some who seemed caught in the middle and none of them looked like they were dressed for the same place. He saw crop tops and business shirts with the buttons undone, hoodies and leather jackets, long hair and short. Sometimes they stumbled out of the place by twos or threes, mouths locked together and hands somewhere they shouldn’t be in public. More than a few wandered only a few feet away to the alley beside the bar before losing themselves to the alcohol and to the other thing. Brick tuned out the noises. He wasn’t interested in all that.

He was looking for something specific. Something red.

He spotted several potential targets, but none of them were quite right. They were too…something. Something or other. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t like it. Wasn’t interested.

He scanned the crowd back and forth, mentally calculating and trying not to get frustrated. There were so many damn people in this city; it shouldn’t be hard to find what he was looking for.

His eyebrows pinched together and he scanned again, only this time he was stopped dead in his tracks by a pair of bright blue eyes staring right back up at him. He was being watched, openly and without regard for bystanders. Brick frowned. The guy was thin and dressed in tight pants that seemed to have more holes than fabric and a sheer black shirt; he had black studs in his ears and his mouth was painted a deep, rich red color that brought a flush to Brick’s cheeks. This guy would do.

 Brick stood up, walked across the roof to the other side of the block, then jumped down to the ground below, cushioning the fall so he didn’t break anything. Walking around to the front, he saw the guy looking around contemplatively before catching his eye once more. God, his eyes were so fucking blue.

Brick jerked his chin in the universal sign for “over there” and Blue Eyes nodded, a smirk playing over his lips. Brick walked around the corner from where the bar was, where there was little light and fewer people—fewer prying eyes. Blue Eyes was quick to follow, and before Brick could say anything the guy was flapping his gums.

“I can give you a price breakdown once you tell me what you actually want,” he said quickly, professionally. His voice was high-pitched, a little nasally, and it bounced when he talked. “Or, if you’re not sure we could always just get started and see what happens. You’ll still have to pay for what you get but it’ll feel more natural if you’re, like, a first-timer or something—”

“That’s not it,” Brick said abruptly, startling the guy into shutting up. He raised both eyebrows, crossing his arms. “I mean, I’m not trying to buy your…services.” Blue Eyes squinted at Brick, eyebrows coming together like he was trying to figure out what he’d missed. “I just want to talk for a minute.”

Blue Eyes looked annoyed. “Oh, honey, that’s not really how this works. I’m on the clock, and if you’re not paying then…” He turned to walk away. Brick grabbed his wrist before he could get far.

“Fuck, just- wait, okay,” he said lamely. “It’ll just be a second. I need to ask you something. I need,” he paused, considering, “…information.”

Blue eyes glared at Brick and he realized he still had a tight grip on his wrist. He loosened it a little but kept his hold. “What’ve you got for me in exchange, Red Hot?” Blue Eyes seemed apprehensive, but Brick could work with that.

He dug into his pocket and fished out the expensive lipstick from the other day, only once used. “That worth five minutes of your time?” Blue Eyes took the tube from his hand and inspected it. Seeing that it was used, he gave Brick a flat look.

“Four minutes.”

Brick sighed. Whatever. “I wanted to ask you about…all of this.” He gestured to Blue Eyes’ body.

“You’re going to be a little more specific, babe. Are you trying to get in on the game or something?”

Brick flushed. “No, not like that. Fuck, I just—your clothes. The makeup. Everyone else out there that does the same thing.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why would you want to do the shit that girls do? You’re men, but you dress like…something else. Not even like women half the time but just- fuck, I don’t know.” He kept his eyes on Blue Eyes’ shoes. He didn’t want to see the look on the guy’s face.

Blue Eyes shifted on his feet. “Uh, I can’t actually tell if you’re being a dick right now or if you’re serious. Are you having some kind of like, crisis or something? ‘Cause honestly dude, I don’t feel like doing the ‘hate-crime’ thing tonight.” He stepped a pace away. Brick rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious. It’s a serious question. If I was going to hurt you I wouldn’t have bothered talking to you first.” He wasn’t sure if he should hope that came across as threatening. Blue Eyes was silent as he considered this statement, finally giving a short noise of acknowledgement.

“Um, okay I guess. For a lot of guys, it’s about the presentation. Like, sometimes older dudes feel better about it if we don’t actually look like men. Sometimes they just like the aesthetic so it’s easier to lure them in if you play the part.” Brick glanced up to Blue Eyes, watching him twirl the lipstick tube in his fingers. “But for some people it’s just a preference, like drag queens and nonconformers and stuff. Sometimes people just like looking cute and showing off the goods. Ah fuck,” he dropped the lipstick and bent over to pick it up off the ground. Brick watched his dark hair flop lightly against his forehead as he came back upright. It looked soft and fluffy.

“And you’re one of the ones who just can’t explain it? You just like what you like and that’s the whole thing?”

Blue Eyes shrugged. “I guess so. It’s kinda like, if you’re out and proud and living boldly, why not do something a little out of the ordinary? Not everyone feels that way and not everyone goes the makeup route, but it’s not really uncommon.” Brick filed that away for later. “So, like, are you just finding your legs or something?”

Brick blinked. “What?”

Blue Eyes smirked. “You’ve got this vibe that’s like, ‘I’m having a gay crisis and don’t know what to do about it.’ It’s not bad but it is pretty obvious. Sorry.” Brick scowled.

“I’m not gay,” he said.

“Maybe so,” Blue Eyes said. “But you’re standing on a dark street trading lipstick for fashion advice with a gay prostitute in the middle of the night. Seems pretty gay, babe.” He slipped the lipstick into the pocket of his barely-there pants. Brick could see where it bulged out against his thigh. “Anyways, your four minutes are up and I’ve got work to do. Thanks for the treat. Come with cash next time and we can really party.” He winked at Brick, turned on his heel, and made his way back towards the more populated street near the bar. Brick didn’t bother trying to stop him. He just took off into the sky; he didn’t stop until he reached the apartment.

Butch was awake when he came in, but Boomer was already asleep in the privacy of the bedroom. Brick made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring his brother’s greeting and his worried, “Whoa, man, you okay?” in his frustration. He slammed the door just a little too hard.

_Did you get what you wanted?_ He asked himself, pacing back and forth across the small space. He caught sight of himself in the cracked mirror above the sink. His hair was still mussed from flying and his nose was pink with cold, but his expression was bordering on murderous. _Did that little adventure help at all? No, it fucking didn’t._

All he knew now was that there was even more to learn. Fuck, he was so far out of the loop. How was he supposed to get his shit together if getting answers just spawned more questions? Fuck, he wanted to hit something. He wanted to burn something to the ground with his heat vision. He wanted to get his hands on that fucking monkey Mojo Jojo and squeeze until money or something worthwhile came out. He wanted to _fight_.

He thought about Butch sitting just a few feet away in the living room. Would he be down to go a few rounds right now? Probably not. He’d been more lethargic than usual lately and getting him outside in the middle of the night wasn’t likely. Waking Boomer was a no-go, and causing a scene by going nuclear on either of his brothers wasn’t likely to go unnoticed by cops, which would bring Mojo Jojo down on them from wherever the fuck he was staying these days.

Fuck, he wished he could go beat up the Powerpuffs or something. They hadn’t fought earnestly in years, ever since Mojo had turned his attention away from Townsville’s small-time crime scene and towards Citysville’s major networks of organized criminals. It had been so long since Brick had been able to fight without restraint, and he could _really_ go for it right about now. _Anything_ to relieve the tension threatening to tear his body apart.

A knock came at the door. “Dude,” Butch said. “Seriously, are you okay? Sounds like you’re freakin’ out in there.”

Oh, Brick was hyperventilating. He was shaking and spiraling and breathing too hard and not enough. So much for his discreet night out. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Fuck off.” He knew it was harsh, but there was really no venom in it. Maybe Butch would realize and pick and pry and force him to talk about his feelings or whatever. Or maybe he’d realize it was time to leave well enough alone and actually fuck off.

No such luck. In moments, the doorknob was broken and the door swung open. Butch didn’t look amused. “Don’t tell me to fuck off,” he said. Brick rolled his eyes. “Now do you want to tell me what’s got you so messed up or are you just gonna pout about it like a little bitch forever?”

“Man, shut the hell up,” Brick bit back. “It’s none of your business.”

Butch’s eyes narrowed. “Bro, your business _is_ my business. I dunno where you got the fuckin’ idea that it’s not, but let’s go ahead and sort that one out right now. You practically crash land through the window and end up having a fuckin’ meltdown in the bathroom and you think that’s not my business? That’s not the way this shit works, man.”

_Oh, honey, that’s not really how this works_ —Brick shook his head, knotting one hand in his hair beneath his baseball cap. “Shut up,” he grumbled. “I’m fine, it’s nothing. Nothing you need to waste your energy thinkin’ about.” _Okay, maybe that was a low blow._

Butch didn’t look pissed off, though. Just irritated. His face was twisted into a sort of half-scowl, like he wanted to be mad at his brother but also wanted to figure out what the hell was going on first.

“Yeah, well humor me. I’ll decide if it’s worth my energy or not.”

Brick paused. Fuck, there was _no way_ he could have this conversation with Butch. He could barely have this conversation with _himself_. How was he supposed to talk about something he had no words for? For the vague pit of dread in his stomach and the heat in his skin whenever he walked by a beauty shop or women’s clothing store? How the hell was he supposed to tell Butch about that without sounding crazy? Or worse, _weak_? Like he couldn’t handle his own brain or something.

“I,” he started. He trained his eyes on the stained yellowed porcelain of the bathroom sink and leaned on the counter with both hands. He took a deep breath. “I don’t—It’s nothing you can help with. It’s shit I’ve gotta figure out on my own.” God, _please_ let that be the end of it.

Butch said nothing for a moment. The silence hung in the air like fog, and Brick felt nerves tightening his muscles and making him impossibly tense.

“…Fine.” Brick looked up at his brother, who now leaned against the doorway with one hand on his neck and the other in the pocket of his cargo shorts. “I can wait. Sort it out and tell me later, but don’t think I’m gonna forget this. One for all and all for one, bitch.” He crosses his arms. “If you’re having some kind of crisis—”

‘ _I’m having a gay crisis and don’t know what to do about it.’_

Brick felt his stomach twist itself in knots. His skin felt cold all of a sudden.

_It’s not bad but it is pretty obvious. Sorry_.

He put a hand on his hair again, squeezing until the pain blocked out Blue Eyes’ voice. He didn’t notice Butch talking to him again until he felt his hand on his arm and realized he was practically tearing his hair out. Butch had a firm grip on his bicep and his face was set in all hard lines and tension.

“Brick, come on man,” he was saying. “Fucking stop it, dude, you’re freaking me out.”

Brick could feel himself tremble and it felt like he was breathing through a straw. He sank down the floor slowly and rested his back against the bathtub. “Butch,” he choked out. “I think I’m losing it.”

Butch scoffed, still holding firm to Brick’s arm as he crouched beside him. Slowly, Brick untangled his hand from his hair and Butch let him go. “Yeah, no shit. Between you and Boomer this whole fucking place is just turning into a nuthouse.”

Brick frowned. “What’s wrong with Boomer?” He hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary earlier, but he hadn’t exactly been the most observant lately. Fuck, if something was wrong with one of his brothers and he had no idea…well, that would be just perfect, wouldn’t it? Fitting, he supposed.

Butch sighed. “Well,” he began. It took him a moment to come up with the rest. “It’s like, he’s been sneaking around and disappearing a lot lately, so I finally talked to him about it and…he’s seeing someone. In Townsville.”

“Seeing someone?”

“Like dating.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, like fucking _oh_ , right?” Butch laughed, but it didn’t sound like he thought it was funny. “So I asked what her name is and he got all cagey about it, then locked himself in the room and spazzed out until he went to bed.” With another sigh, he sat down beside Brick, leaning back against the tub as well. “I thought about it a lot and it’s like, if it was just some bitch across the river then it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? But if he thinks it’s a big enough deal to lie about it and avoid it flat out like that…” He ran a hand through his scruffy hair. “I think he’s either gay, or he’s dating one of those fucking Powerpuffs.”

Brick put one hand on his forehead and leaned into it. Jesus Christ. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Brick let this revelation sink in. Okay, so his brother—his _babiest_ brother—was either gay or fraternizing with the enemy (probably) (also, did it count as fraternizing with the enemy if they hadn’t actually fought in years?).

Okay. Alright. Okay. Okay.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. “I don’t know what the hell to make of that.”

Butch nodded. “Yeah, me fucking neither. It’s like, on the one hand it feels kind of like, I dunno, a betrayal? But it’s also definitely _not_ ‘cause it’s not like he’d ever actively do anything to compromise the team.”

_The family_ , Brick thought.

“And _if_ he’s gay, I guess it doesn’t really matter…” _it doesn’t?_ “…and if he’s hooking up with a Powerpuff then like, it makes me wonder if he’s gonna become all superhero-y and righteous or something and cause drama. ‘Cause I definitely don’t want that. I don’t really know what to think or do or anything.”

“That’s a lot,” Brick said weakly after a moment’s hesitation. Fuck, this was already such a _mess_. “Honestly I didn’t even notice, sorry.” Butch gave another harsh laugh.

“Of course you didn’t notice,” he said. _Okay, ouch_. “Because you’ve been off in your own shit for like a week now, too. Are _you_ fucking a Powerpuff girl? Did Daddy fucking finally tell you you’re adopted? Or did you hook up with some guy behind a dumpster and decide you liked it? ‘Cause you’re acting like you’re going through some major life event, some fucking metamorphosis, and I don’t know what the hell else to think about it.” Frustrated had edged into Butch’s voice, and when Brick looked over at him he could see his shoulders shake with it. Butch had always been the calmest, the most level headed, and the most in-control of the three of them. It was kind of scary to see him like this.

“It’s not like that,” he mumbled. “Don’t go getting weird ideas about me. It’s just personal. If it becomes relevant to you or the team, I’ll let you know. ‘Til then, let’s just focus on dealing with Boomer.”

“What do you mean ‘dealing with him’?” Butch asked. “Do you have some strong feelings on the subject you’d like to share? I’m all ears.”

Brick hummed in contemplation. He ran a hand through his long locks of hair, trying to ignore how greasy it had become. He should wash it soon, probably. “I mean, I don’t want him lying to us or keeping secrets about shit like that. He can have his privacy same as anybody I guess but this seems like a pretty big fucking deal and we should’ve known about it sooner. _Especially_ if it’s a Powerpuff.”

“You wanna talk to him tomorrow? Catch him before he has a chance to run off?” Brick nodded, then let his head fall forward. He was so tired. He wanted to wrap himself in his threadbare blanket, put a pillow over his head, and sleep for an eternity.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced, getting up from the floor. Butch followed shortly after. “This day’s been too fucking long.”

His brother said nothing. They set up their beds in silence and Brick tried not to think about Blue Eyes’ ripped up jeans as he stripped down to his boxers.  He tried not to think of the way he’d looked at him from under his eyelashes when he’d spotted him on the roof of the bar. How he’d bent over to pick up the fallen lipstick tube.

How he’d taken the lipstick that had caused Brick so much trouble in the first place. Probably added it to his collection. Brick wondered what Blue Eyes would be wearing tomorrow.

He fell asleep not long after that, still aware of Butch’s presence beside him—quiet, but very awake.

 

Butch watched his brother sleep. They were triplets, technically, but they had lived together for twelve years knowing instinctively that Brick was the oldest brother, and Boomer the youngest. Even if it didn’t make logical sense, it made sense to them and that’s what mattered. In times like this, though, Butch wondered why the hell they ever bothered. Being the “oldest” and being their leader didn’t make Brick invulnerable. Most of the time it just made him a dick. Something was clearly wrong with him now and being “older” wasn’t going to help him get through it any more than being the “baby” was going to save Boomer from the consequences of his dumbass decisions come morning.

They were playing pretend—that’s all it was. They were dealing with life the only way they knew how. They had to fake it ‘til they made it, and then fake it some more. They had to lie to themselves and to each other because lying and cheating and stealing and _winning_ were the only ways you got by in this world. Mojo Jojo had taught them that right from the start, and it seemed like none of them were ever going to fucking forget it.

He watched the tension in Brick’s body slowly slip away as he found unconsciousness. God, what a stupid mess they were all in. So much for _pretending_ being the answer. Brick wanted to pretend there was nothing wrong, to brush him off and tell him it was nothing. God, what _ever_. Butch wondered sometimes if his brothers just thought he was fucking stupid. It definitely seemed like it, especially on days like this.

Laying in bed, Butch brought one hand up to rub through the stubble on his chin. He was only twelve years old, chronologically speaking, but damn, he felt too fucking old for this.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with nb!Brick and slowly tying in the rest of my gender/sexuality headcanons for these disaster children. Once again, don't @ me to fight about headcanons lmao.


End file.
